Not You Again
by Carneeval
Summary: Fighting his way through the Olympus Heights Jack accidentally finds himself in the apartment of a past annoyance he had thought he'd never have to be bother by again... Written version of Coehn's apartment, nothing changed except added dialogue by Jack.


**Another written version of events in BioShock that include: Dun duh duh, Sander Cohen.**

**Surprised?**

**Don't be, I like writing his character too much to quit now.**

**So a written version of Olympus Heights in Cohen's room**

**Note: And yes, I understand that Sinclair calls Delta 'Chief' but my written versions were done before I played BioShock 2.**

His back smashed into one of the apartment buildings doors cracking the wood under his weight. He groaned at the pain as he was sent into a spiral of dizziness and blur, so when the door slid open at the presence of someone before it he fell back, elbows meeting the wooden floors with a good clashing.

Jack however, didn't allow himself to be distracted for long, he shot his head back up as the Rosie Big Daddy rushed forward, Rivet Gun in both hands, bashing into his chest again. A good amount of electricity effected the Rosie but not for long.

The attack sent Jack across the wooden floors, crashing into what seemed to be a small stage of sorts, as a microphone fell over from its tall stand and landed on top of him. He threw his arm out, sending it scattering across the floor and pulled out the Electric Bucks and loading it within seconds.

As he'd continued on this 'Adventure' he'd improved on the much needed 're-loading weapons' section of it.

The large red lighted beast was still outside, it had retrieved a Proximity Mine, to throw in his direction. Keeping the Shotgun tucked in the crook of his elbow and still kneeling on the floor his arm was instantly up with Telekinesis doing it's job by catching the Mine in midair before it could hit him, he sent it back to its owner, the sound of a loud growl signified he'd hit.

This gave him time to get back to his feat and rise the gun to a good level for the Rosie, "Night Big Daddy," He muttered, pushing the trigger a few times, the Power to the People Station's were something sent from the heavens in his opinion, making his weapons far more fierce then they were previously, and with that the lights of the Big Daddy shut off sending him to the floor in a pathetic looking sitting position.

This one had no Little Sister, he would merely mope around groaning, trudging on from vent to vent bashing his large gloved fist against the metal surface standing there for a moment before making a sound of aggravation and continuing on to the next, as if he could actually find her ever again. It was a sorry sight, their whole existence centered around protecting their Sisters.

Without out, they still had one extinct to focus on: Kill.

Another Splicer had attacked, mistaking the Big Daddy for having an Adam rich girl with him, but was sadly mistaken, he too had been a victim to annoying Splicer's Machine Gun, as he seemed to intent to kill both of them in one shot.

Jack killed the Splicer but the Big Daddy still viewed him as an enemy, even if he had been the one to take the life of the one attacking the both of them. What could he do? Try to reason with the thing, it had no sense of direction nor subconscious anymore, all except for the one they protected.

It was gone now, and had broken Jack's wrist.

The bones were dislodged underneath his skin, blood seeping down his hand but he'd seen, felt, and done worse and with a quick way to fix it without any interruptions he didn't worry about it too much.

He had the Medical Kits, the healing abilities of those things were amazing and the one Scientific discovery in Rapture that he could truly appreciate.

He sat down on the small stage and began the fixing of the broken bone, he'd never really been momentously effected by pain, had a tolerance to it he guessed, it just annoyed him deeply that he had to be injured so often, usually in an ambush of high pitched annoying basket cases.

He was finishing fixing the hand when he saw his radio lighting up, "The hell..." He said, usually he knew if Fontaine or Tennenbaum were trying to contact him. Fontaine would stop his heart then Tennenbaun would rush him to find something and berate the other man stopping the important organ temporarily.

It had been a strange and stressful day.

He unhooked it from his belt loop and examined the picture.

His heart in fact, felt like it stopped, and it had nothing to do with 'Code Yellow'.

"I hear your wings flapping in my home... flip flap, flip flap, flip flap."

"Cohen..." He said annoyed, bringing a hand to his eyes, and hunching his shoulders slightly whilst he sat, "What in the hell are you doing here..."

He stood up and leaning out the door, still holding the radio, he glanced up at the golden plate with an etching that held the name of the one residing in the home: 'S. Cohen'

_'Cause this is his house...' _He thought, groaning as he was brought back to the obnoxious reality that Cohen was still able to leave Fort Frolic, free to bother him more if felt so.

"Come into the light Moth, come in..." He said in the usual poetic manner he inhabited in his voice.

Jack knew better though, this is how he sounded when Cohen first tuned into his radio blocking him off from...

He'd rather not think about any of that, especially not being ordered to kill due to the fact that he had to listen to everything 'Atlas' said because he had spoken 'Would you kindly' and in turn anything Cohen said was law to his order adapted mind, just for the purpose to be controlled.

What a lousy discovery.

He blinked rapidly shaking his head.

Too late, he thought about it.

Even though he wasn't controlled any longer he didn't see the use in not going in, after all, like the other apartments Cohen's might have a few things he needed. The bastard owed him after everything in Fort Frolic. Though, he had to wonder if Cohen _**knew**_ that he had to follow any order given by the 'Would you kindly' statement, or if he truly believed that Jack was helping him because he wanted to over the whole disciple thing.

Jack tried to step in front of a door near the entrance but found that it was locked. He followed where Cohen apparently wanted him to go. He was shocked towards what he saw to say the least.

Two Splicers, a male in a black suite and a female blonde in a powder green dress stepped from side to side, the man twirling her every once in a while. They were dancing in the spot light, conversing and laughing like a normal couple, while the music consisting a whistling played.

It was strange to say the least, and really, he stood there dumbfounded by it all.

"I see your still testing your wings Little Moth, stay and enjoy the dance... If you wish," He said.

Jack couldn't help but laugh slightly, "Well this is the first bit of normality I've seen in this place."

Cohen wasn't finished apparently, his voice had become strong with demanding warning and anger, "But don't you dare, rattle their rhythm."

"All right chief, you got it!" He said sighing, stepping away from them, rising his eyebrows. He knew the nutcase wouldn't last being calm for long. He trailed along the outside of the spotlight, shotgun in hand in case as they spoke, "This is my daughters wedding not his!" The female rambled on.

He shook his head, leaving their side to search the apartment. On the right side of the home he found shelves, some still holding a few books but many were hopelessly scattered across the floor, another was knocked over completely while a few actually still held complete collections of books. Nothing else interested him so he ended to the other side.

Splicers will still there.

Still dancing.

Geeze were they stuck like that?

Matching the left, the right had another library of rows of books, on tipped over onto the wall, flames catching underneath it. The guy seemed to really like books back when he was pompous but sane. Though when he knelt he found he could reach a Storage Box underneath. Inside he retrieved five Machine Gun Rounds.

Fuck, he was worried of _why_ Cohen needed to keep these....

He couldn't real see anything else of use past there so he returned back to the living room, the Splicers danced along, women still speaking of her daughter's wedding though Jack doubted her having knowledge of an actual wedding at all.

He sighed stepping by the instruments that simply sat near by, he knew he should just leave, there was no real point in staying now, glancing at the piano hit lifted a hand and hit a couples of the keys, it wasn't very loud so-

Before he could even continue such a thought the music suddenly halted, the dancing Splicer parted with a swift movement, they both yelled something incoherent in his direction, moving in his direction to attack.

He brought the shot gun up and in two hits they both rolled to the floor, his radio switched on belaying an angry Cohen, "When will you ever learn to take instructions?! I'm coming down there, Little Moth, coming down to teach you to dance!"

"That doesn't sound like a good thing," Jack said, searching the corpses as quickly as he could, listening for anything. For a moment, everything was silent, he looked around for anything but suddenly decided it was better if he just left the home of a crazy person. It would have been better if he never decided to look around in the first place.

He picked up his speed back towards the door keeping safe all the way. That was until he heard the locked door slide open, the one that had previously been locked, regrettably he heard a yell before he could exit, "I'm Sander fucking Cohen!"

That was then that the crazy bastard attacked him, it wasn't like he hadn't suspected violence ever since Cohen had first blew up Fitzpatrick but he never actually wasted his time to _consider _what sort of Splicer he could have been.

If that question had ever been asked then now it was answered: The middle of his back burned excruciatingly as flames met the cloth of his sweater, and ate threw it to meet up with his skin, leaving painful burn marks there.

He whipped around only to see a cloud of rose petals and red smoke symbolize that Cohen had transported.

"God dammit," He leaned against the wall ignoring the searing pain of a burn in his loading bullets into his shot gun. Houdini Splicers, given that nickname for their overly annoying ability to do things similar to a magic trick. Disappear, reappear, and throw fire from their hands.

Something similar to Incinerate, but much stronger than he could produce...

He looked around for him to return, they could never stay away for long, it must have something to do with the way they spliced but he would have no clue, he wasn't a scientist. He saw the heat signature move over in the corner of his eye, he raised the gun and aimed it just like he would any annoying Splicer after his life.

That's when it hit him...

This wasn't like those situations of being attacked suddenly, once he thought it over he was further enraged when he considered it.

Sander fucking Cohen made him kill four men, take their pictures, sent a hoard of Splicers that left him bleeding profusely on the floor on the verge of death on the floor, tried to actually_ apologize_, and all in the end he still left the guy to live on because he wasn't going to just kill someone at random if they weren't trying to take his life in turn.

Well now Cohen was, and god dammit if Jack was going to do something about it_ this _time!

The moment the scary looking bastard reappeared he had the gun lifted and finger on the trigger, he pushed it once and sent blood flying through the air and splattering against the floor and was able to shoot him a second time before he transported causing him to no longer be a target.

Jack growled, at the fact that he could get away and that he himself was oh-so ready to kill, breathing threw his nose he held the gun at his side knowing Cohen could hear him, "Ya know what! Here and now I'm going to tell you what I thought of the _whole _damn situation of _dealing_ with _you," _He yelled out, turning round to make sure when he was back for more he could see him, a bitter laugh entered his voice, "Your so called 'Masterpiece' was scary as hell, yes I did _not _like it! At all! You calling me a 'Little Moth'," His voice became overly mocking at the sounding of the name, "And an 'Angel' was fucking creepy, even creepier than your stupid statues! And if you think for one _second _that it was an actual privilege, that I actually liked, working with you..."

He heard the sound the Splicers of his type from behind, knowing he'd truly pissed him off now and probably was trying a surprise attack. He whirled around with the gun's middle in his hand and with a strong swing bashed the blunt handle into the side of Sander Cohen's face, a loud cracking sound told him he'd just broken the man's jaw.

Cohen was sent to the ground in a bash, grasping for the broken part of his face, Jack glared without mercy in mind, flipped in the air catching it by its blood splattered handle, he leaned over pressing it into the back of Cohen's head, the other man went frozen when he did, finally, Jack finished what were his last words to Cohen, "Then you don't even realize how fucking wrong you are Cohen."

The gun was loud as he pulled the trigger, ending another life in a mess of blood and other things that the body contained that he didn't want to consider, now that he was dead Jack knelt down to continue the normal tradition of looting the body.

Hey, survival of the fittest right?

In the pockets of Cohen's coat was Eighty-seven dollars, Thirty-six Antipersonnel Rounds, and a key. Jack stood up looking at the little thing curiously, looking closely he could see a word etched across the rounded top: Muse.

He thought back to Fort Frolic, Cohen had rambled something about the key to his Muse or something.

Admittedly, Jack wasn't really listening.

So this key must have gone to the box, well it was useless now but he put it his pocket anyways. As he was walking towards the exit the door that Cohen had exited from slid open, he looked at it wide eyed. So it was unlocked now?

He stepped through the door finding a rather long staircase to get to the next floor. He grimaced, it looked nice but in no way would he want to deal with this everyday if it was his apartment. Thank god Tenenbaum was helping him get out of Rapture so he really didn't need to worry about housing.

Once he reached the end of the needlessly long staircase he found himself in what seemed to be Cohen's bedroom.

Should he have _expected _this amount of flamboyancy?

Upstairs there were similar purple lights that were in Fort Frolic, lighting the whole place to glow lavender. The flooring was wooden and walls painted purple whilst large windows displayed views of Rapture's underwater city. Must have been nice when the city was actually alive and well.

But of course, there was the creepy as hell factor.

Along the walls were plaster versions of rabbit masks placed all along the walls and the next to his, also purple, bed were two female plaster statues their arms up in the air and taking a step back. Above his bed the largest of the masks held a light behind it that made it's holes for eyes glow red, this was a design that held the prize of strangest of all.

Though at the foot of his bed was a trunk, on the top were shot gun round and a bottle of fancy shaped green alcohol called 'Moonbeam Absinthe**'**. Oh no, no way was he drinking any. He'd attempted drinking alcohol to gain some health and after he'd gotten the right Tonic Eve as well and it never ended in anything but the need to purchase more Medical Kits because a Splicer attack couldn't be taken care of properly as he couldn't see straight and a just so wonderful headache afterward.

So he avoided it looking inside the trunk it sat on instead, two Electric Bucks were inside. Thankfully, that Big Daddy had used up his last ones, and they were useful little bullets.

He glanced over his shoulder and couldn't help but smile at what was across the room up on the wall, a Power to the People Station in which he had praised earlier.

Stepping towards it he checked his weapons for what was in need of being made more lethal, his Grenade Launcher was a useful thing during dire situations, he could increase the damage it did on his enemies. So he chose that, placing it in the Station and allowing it to do its work.

After it finished and shut down on him, regrettably, he continued on, around the room there were more Grenades lying on the floor in portions where there piles of ruble from the unkempt city. On a desk in the corner were Machine Gun rounds and inside the desk an empty container and Bucks. He didn't really need either so he looked again. This time he was able to find items important for Inventing, two batteries and two distilled waters. Nearby, the bathroom had a large opening for entrance, more of the designed but useless type, the way was rounded with two podiums on the sides carved from wood.

Jack rolled his eyes as he entered, the whole bathroom's walls and flooring were made of a bluish tinge and more windows looked out into the ocean.

In the middle was a wall that only stood to hold two sinks with glass that couldn't be seen through in squares, on the other side were cabinets and counters, upon the surface were two Medical Kits in which he added to the others.

It was then that he realized that he'd actually forgotten of the burn that had been inflicted upon him, he sighed using one of the Kits to fix it, but to bad it left his shirt burned open from the back.

Just like the inside of the room, piles of rubble were lying in random litters throughout.

A bathtub sat upon tiled steps, more unnecessary designs but he frowned solemnly when he stepped up to check if anything was inside.

Indeed there was: a woman inside of plaster, long dead and frozen in time, a captive of a sick version of 'art'. She was hunched over, arms crossed and head hanging down as if in a depressed state, in one of her hands was another bottle of the alcohol that was in a few places in Cohen's room, obviously since it was not plastered itself it had been placed in her hand after she was killed. Jack grunted before turning away from her. What the hell did anyone do to earn such an end?

Seeing nothing more he could do, he headed back downstairs, ready to leave and trudge on to find his way to Fontaine. He paused at the door and glanced at Cohens corpse.

Wouldn't it have been proper if eventually someone had turned him into a plaster figurine?

He wouldn't have been surprised, in all, he would have truthfully been amused.


End file.
